


What Did You Think Would Happen?

by taralkariel



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, POV Alternating, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Red Room (Marvel), Slow Burn, for some parts, mainly, post-endgame really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-10-28 10:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17785859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taralkariel/pseuds/taralkariel
Summary: Natalia Romanova was one of 28 Black Widows in the Red Room, trained by the Winter Soldier.  After graduating, Natalia was sent on a few missions with him, leading them both to choose something that made them feel human.  They were punished for that, in different ways. Years later, Bucky Barnes admits to her that he remembers everything.  But what exactly does that entail?





	1. What did you think would happen when you put me in unnatural space?

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! This is largely a Red Room story, but I wanted a happier ending than that would provide, so the prologue/epilogue will be set in some post-Endgame future time period. Thanks for reading! Please read and review! Titles from Painted by MS MR.

Natasha Romanoff was undercover.  It had been a long time since she’d infiltrated anywhere.  Well, time was a confusing construct these days.  But the universe-changing reality of Thanos and his plan were definitely in the past.  She was glad to be back at work, wiping red from her ledger in an environment that made sense, that she had been brought up to understand.  No more monsters and magic – or, at least, significantly less of it.

There had been a message waiting for her from Sharon Carter, suggesting that a chemical company could use some closer scrutiny.  How Sharon could possibly have known where she was staying, she had no idea.  But a note had been affixed to her refrigerator door nonetheless, and she had wondered if perhaps it was time to move.  People were not supposed to be able to get inside of her safehouses without her assistance.

In any case, here she was, investigating the company, dressed as a lab tech.  Large glasses obscured her face and she was wearing a wig, now that her signature red hair had grown out again, as well as a lab coat.  Hidden under her work clothes was her tac suit, though she had found it necessary to dispense with most of her weaponry – that was okay, she had backup.

The building was the usual high-rise skyscraper, with keyed entries to every floor.  Her falsified identification badge was likely able to access most of these, but she would have to do some work to get into the more restricted areas.  If one could really call it work – she could do this kind of thing in her sleep.

There were quite a few lab techs employed by the company, but it was only a matter of time before someone asked who she was, or at least why she was away from her station.  She didn’t have a station, so that could get awkward.  Especially if they scanned her ID badge and were shown one Les Robertson, a man who did not watch his pockets very well on the street the day before.  For one relatively high-ranking in a possibly criminal organization, she would have thought he’d pay more attention.  He was now suffering from terrible abdominal cramps as a result, but she doubted he would connect the two enough to learn from his error.

She smiled to herself as she pressed the basement button and was pleased that the request was accepted by the machine.  She hadn’t been sure where such a oblivious man would have been granted access.  She also didn’t know where anything interesting might be hiding around here.  But people tended to put things they’d rather not be found in basements, so it was a good place to start.

As soon as the doors opened, she slipped out, looking for some kind of cover, but none was available.  Fortunately, it was also unnecessary.  The room was large and brightly lit, almost like a clean room.  There was no gear that would indicate it actually was a clean room, though.  More importantly, no one appeared to be around.  She moved silently through the interconnected rooms that made up the basement in search of anything suspicious.  There were several labs and offices, most of them locked but not a challenge for her to break in and look through for information.

There had been days when paper files were the object of her search.  Now, though, her searches were usually computerized.  People tended to be predictable with their passwords, sometimes not even changing them from the default.  There were a few desktops that required waiting for her algorithm to brute force its way through before getting access, but not many required any tech.  If time was less of a factor, she could have found the owners of these offices and stolen their keys to ease this along.

However, it was the middle of night, and while the labs operated at some capacity twenty-four hours a day, the administrative personnel did not.  She would have expected a shady company to have its secret basement operations going almost exclusively at night, but what did she know about such things?

Her search yielded nothing more interesting than the usual not-strictly-illegal-but-certainly-immoral kinds of activities one would expect from a company of this size, and she was somewhat disappointed.  Even if it was technically good news.  She returned to the elevator and stared at the buttons, considering which one to press, but then it started moving on its own.  Figuring that was as good an option as any, she resolved to wait and see where she ended up.

“Sharon?” she whispered, pressing her earpiece a little closer.

“You were off our scans there for a minute.  You okay?” Agent 13 replied.

“Yeah, just in the basement.”

“Find anything?”

“Not really,” she admitted.

“Should we call it a day?”

She was about to reply when the elevator doors opened and she was greeted by an unexpected sight.  Standing in front of her were a group of what must be mercenaries, and they seemed rather shocked to see her.  More than she was to see them, anyway.

“Hi, there,” was the conversation starter she opted to use.

They shifted uncomfortably, looking at each other in an attempt to find out what to do about her presence.

“What’s the hold up?” a harsh voice demanded, and she could see a man of much slighter build standing behind them, wearing an impatient expression that was all too familiar.  When he spotted her, he froze.  “Natalia?”

“I’m going to need backup,” she said calmly, pressing the elevator button several times.  When nothing happened fast enough to suit her, she figured standing there like a sitting duck wasn’t the best plan.  This floor appeared to be composed only of offices and she ran past the men still conveniently immobilized by their surprise and into one such sanctuary, searching for something substantial with which to defend herself.

“Natalia!” that man, whom she remembered going by Bleach, yelled through the door and there was a cracking sound as one of the large men must have attempted to break it down.  Not successfully so far, but it was only a matter of time.  She needed a plan.

“Where are you?” Sam’s voice broke through her less-than-focused thoughts.

“Fortieth floor,” she told him.  “Please don’t ask me to jump out the window.”

His laugh was somewhat mirthless but she appreciated it anyway.  “That was the forty-first floor, Nat.  I’m sending in help.”

“What kind of help?” she wanted to know, hoping he didn’t mean that drone of his.

Breaking glass somewhere outside of her office interrupted her and it sounded like whomever had been beating at her door now had something else to beat on.  Well, it wouldn’t be very sportsman-like to just hide out in here, so she took a deep breath, pulled out her Stingers, and opened the door. 

Outside, there were six mercenaries as well as Bleach, and now a seventh man who apparently had been tossed in through the window.  Certainly not a tactic she would have expected or recommended, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The fight wasn’t exactly fair, so she figured she’d better lend a hand.  Charging at the nearest man, she brought him down using her signature move before lunging at the next closest person.  All of the mercenaries were armed, but were resisting using their guns for some reason.  Some reason that did not apply to the use of knives.  It took a bit of maneuvering, but she managed to get the knife away from the guy.  She didn’t particularly want to outright stab him, since he was just working, same as her, but she would if necessary.

He barreled toward her and she leapt out of the way, turning around to strike him solidly on the head with the knife handle.  It wasn’t a very large point of contact, but proved enough to throw him off.  Enough for him to drop to his knees and maybe not be a threat for a short while.  She looked around and found that the other four men were down, while Bleach had disappeared, presumably taking the elevator.

“Hello, Barnes,” she said as the former Winter Soldier stood up and moved a little away from the last man he’d dispatched.  None of them were dead, she was pretty sure, likely due to the fact that he had the fortune of having an effective blunt instrument attached to his shoulder.  No deadlier weapon was necessary.

“Romanoff,” he replied evenly.

“Sharon?” she tried.

“Get outside.  Now.”

She realized there were sirens going off, maybe for a few minutes and she just hadn’t noticed.  Troubling, since she usually would be aware of something so obvious.  And loud.  “Did Sam just throw you in here?” she asked conversationally while she looked for the stairs.

“Yeah.  Seemed like a good idea at the time,” he replied a little uncomfortably, pulling at the collar of his new suit.

“I’m sure it did,” she replied, smirking as she headed for the staircase.  Barnes followed her and they made good time getting to the ground floor.  Outside, many of the workers were milling about, waiting to be told they could reenter the building.  She and Barnes joined in with them unobtrusively as instructed by Sharon.  She was, of course, still more or less in disguise (though her wig and glasses had been lost in the scuffle), but Barnes was dressed for a mission and hiding him was more difficult.

They headed for one of the larger pockets of employees to better disguise his presence.  Well, that was her motivation.  They didn’t discuss it.  Communication on a mission tended to be nonverbal by necessity.  Not to mention the fact that he had said only a handful of words to her in years.

A sudden explosion made everyone gasp, and there were flames clearly visible on several of the floors.  Then pandemonium ensued and people began to run.  The structural integrity of the building would likely hold, especially since the sprinklers had come on, but they joined in the panic with everyone else.  Once they were far enough away, they broke off and she led the way back to her safe house.

While they waited for Sharon or Sam give them further directions, she made some tea.  It had been distinctly unpleasant to see Bleach again.  Because it had been a very long time since she had done so, she’d hoped to be over it by now, but her nerves were a little shaken.  Tea would help.

“Are you okay?” Barnes asked, startling her from remembering more than she would like to right now.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied.  He continued to look at her, not accepting her hasty response.  They hadn’t been working together for very long.  Well, not recently, anyway, she thought bitterly.  Still, if she was compromised, then her teammates deserved to know about it.  She had intended to tell Sharon the truth, why not Barnes?

There were very clear reasons why not, but she ignored them.  “I…  The man who was in charge of those guys.  I knew him.”

He nodded as though this made some kind of sense to him.  She opened her mouth to ask him about that, but then Sharon made contact and they had more pressing concerns.

“You reading me, Nat?”

“Yes, we’re here.  Barnes and I are in the safehouse.”

“Good.  The building is still standing, but whatever they were doing in there, they managed to hide all the evidence.  You said you weren’t able to find anything?”

“Yeah, nothing substantial,” she had to admit.

“Why did they attack you, then?”

She pursed her lips, not looking at Barnes.  “The leader recognized me.  And got away, probably the reason things were on fire.”

 “Did you get a good look at him, Barnes?” Sharon asked.  He nodded.  “Enough that we might be able to track him down?”

“His name is Bleach.  I don’t know if that’s first or last,” Barnes reported evenly, ignoring the way she looked at him sharply.  “He was affiliated with HYDRA.”

“It’s not much, but we’ll see what we can do.  Sam’s been tracking vehicles that left at the beginning of the chaos and thinks he found the one our guy used.  We’ll go check it out.  You sit tight in case we need you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Natasha replied.

“Don’t ma’am me, Nat; I’m younger than you.  Stay out of trouble.”

The silence that followed the exchange tinged toward awkward.  Natasha went to the kitchenette and prepared her tea, watching Barnes out of the corner of her eye as he walked over to the window.  There were a lot of reasons to let it go, or to wait until later to pursue it, but if there was one thing she’d learned in the last year, it was that there was no time like the present.

“Barnes.”  He turned around, expression unreadable except for a hint of anxiety, likely guessing her intent.  “Do you remember Bleach?”

“Yes,” he replied, jaw clenching at he met her gaze.  Clearly, he understood the underlying implications of her question.

“Do you remember our time together?”  The question came out as a whisper and her heart pounded at the prospect of finally knowing the answer.

“I remember everything, Natalia.”


	2. A cruel dark box where a shadow took my place

It is cold.  It’s always cold, but now it feels all-encompassing.  Like it’s down to his bones.  He can move, at least a little bit.  But he doesn’t get the chance to do anything with that as hands grab him roughly and drag him over to a chair.  The chair has restraints on it.  He doesn’t like those.  He doesn’t like any of this.  He wants to move, to run, but something prevents him from doing so.  Someone is talking, saying a string of words that mean nothing to him.  Or maybe they do.  He sits up a little straighter and answers.

 

It’s cold again, but in a different way.  There is snow all around him.  He’s taken care not to leave a trail of his footprints.  He waits.  He is unmoving and silent.  The great house across the road has several lights on in it and he can see people moving around.  One in particular has his focus and he is waiting for a better shot.

There – a clear framing of the target through one of the larger windows on the east wing.  The civilians are not close enough to be injured and he takes a deep breath before pulling the trigger.  Chaos results in the building but he lingers for a few precious seconds to be sure that his mission is complete.  Satisfied, he puts his rifle away with practiced haste, then moves silently back the way he came, again obscuring his footprints.

His path takes him back to the car in which he had been brought here.  There are three men around it, his handlers, smoking and chatting.  At the sight of him, one swears and throws away his cigarette.

“Success, Soldier?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Good.  Let’s get the hell out of here; it’s freezing,” the handler in charge grumbles and climbs into the passenger seat of the vehicle.  The other two men follow suit, one as the driver and one in the back.  The one in the back pulls out his gun before sitting down and motions toward the Soldier, who complies.

The ride back to base takes a long time.  His comrades occasionally speak to one another, but mostly under their breaths.  The one at his side does not speak, remaining focused on him, gun not exactly in a threatening position but clearly made visible for his benefit.  Enough so that the idea of dozing off is a distant one.  Even if he can’t remember the last time he slept.  There is a level of exhaustion he can feel, but it’s become a habit to ignore the sensation.  He expects his body to respond reliably regardless of how tired he might feel.  There might be work to do and he must remain alert for it. 

This proves to be unnecessary as the hours slip by and the cold landscape moves along outside the window with little deviation.  The monotony is difficult to resist and even having a weapon so clearly intended for use against him is not effective at keeping him awake.  He sleeps.

 

When he awakens, they have come to a stop in front of a large building.  It is even larger than the house in which his target was located.  There was a gate through which they have already passed, and a wall that is easily eight feet tall surrounding the compound.  For a compound it clearly is.  This is not the place in which he was awakened.  Any questions he might have will no doubt be ignored, so he says nothing.

The driver gets out first, making his way up the steps and in through the large oak doors of the building.  There are guards on either side, watching them.  The two other handlers in the vehicle remain silent, the one in the front seat lighting up another cigarette while they wait.  The man beside him shifts a little, tightening his grip on his gun.

A man with a slight build comes outside with the driver, followed by several more guards clearly under his command.

“This one?” the man asks, gesturing to the Soldier as he glances back at the driver, who nods.  “Hmm, not what I expected,” he adds in a murmur as he scrutinizes the Soldier.

“He’s extremely effective, sir,” the handler who is smoking asserts.  The man in charge gives him a look and he quickly extinguishes his cigarette.  “He knocked off Kazimerov with one shot just now.  Got close enough to the mansion to do it, which none of the others have been able to do.”

“I’ve read his reports,” was the other man’s terse reply.  “Seems like a lot of upkeep for just another wetworks specialist.”

The Soldier is unexpectedly offended by the remark and somewhat relieved to see that the formerly smoking man feels the same way.

“Sir, he’s much more than that.”

“Shall I take your word for it?”

Frowning, his handler gets out of the car and stands before the other man.  “Karpov told me that you expressed interest in our Soldier.  But if he is more valuable to us than he would be to you, Bleach, we’ll just keep him.”

Bleach smiles.  “Will you, Josef?”

Josef glares at him, reaching unsubtly toward his gun.  “Do we have a deal or not?”

A long moment passes in which all five of the men are very tense.  Then Bleach nods, his expression serious.  “We have plans for him, given his reputation.  You’ll forgive the impertinence of demanding a show of his talents in person, I’m sure,” he added, smile returning.

Clenching his teeth, Josef gives a tight nod.  “Of course.”  He turned toward the car.  “Soldier, spare Comrade Bleach and the three of us.  Kill everyone else.”

Bleach looks surprised but does not protest such a brutal exercise.  The guards are perplexed but well-trained, prepared to defend themselves with guns and knives while he is sitting unarmed in the cramped confines of a car.  A disadvantage, certainly, but he’s had worse.  Probably.

Swiftly, he uses his left hand to strike the man next to him, distracting him long enough to take his weapon.  A quick shot to bring down the nearest guard and now they are on the offensive.  He jumps into the front seat as they start shooting at him.  The window was open already so there is no concern of shattered glass, and hopefully the other handler in the car will avoid further injury.

Ducking behind the door, he shoots two more blindly but hears them go down.  The door offers less protection than he would like, and he prefers the ability to move, so he gets out of the car before the remaining guards can find sufficient cover.  He blocks their bullets with his left arm and shoots three of the four in rapid succession.

He’s out of ammo.  The last guard is by the door, emptying his clip with increasing panic as his shots ricochet off the Soldier’s arm.  The Soldier walks unwaveringly toward him even as the man hastily reloads and continues firing.  At this distance, the force and heat of the gunfire is harder to endure, but he ignores it and continues until he can knock the gun from the man’s hand.  The guard goes for his knife and he uses his left hand to grab the man’s wrist when he tries to stab him.  Twisting his opponent’s arm, he manages to turn the knife on its owner with efficient accuracy.

In the ensuing silence, he observes the results.  His handlers are alive, if perhaps somewhat injured from the chaos.  Bleach is unharmed and looking pleased.

“We really must get some better guards here, don’t you think, Josef?”

Josef just grunts in response, looking annoyed as he wipes blood from a wound on his forehead, likely from a ricocheting bullet.

“Soldat, come with me.  You’re going to be staying here for a while.”

“My payment?” Josef demands, stepping forward before Bleach can move.

Bleach smiles again.  “All in good time.  Bring in your men and tell me about the facilities our newest asset will require.”

This clearly isn’t what Josef expected, but he nods toward the others.  Bleach leads the way inside, motioning for the Soldier to follow first.  He does so, aware of his handlers following him.

The entrance hall is large, dark old wood carved in elaborate patterns near the ceiling and adorning the doorway on the left side of the hall.  It opens onto a lavish sitting room.  The other side has a closed door, and a large staircase occupies most of the space ahead of them.  Marble floors and wrought-iron lamps give the place an old-world feel and the Soldier pauses to process that thought.

“Move along,” Josef hisses and he does as directed.

He is taken through the grandly appointed house until they reach a back staircase and descend.  The staircase is fine enough, though nothing compared to the one that ascended to the second floor from the entryway.  It is quickly apparent why – downstairs is like a completely different building.  One with cement walls and low lighting, armed people wearing grey uniforms, and doors made of metal.

Bleach stops at one of the doors and opens it with a key on his belt.  “Your quarters,” he explains, motioning for the Soldier to enter.

The room is small, with just a cot on the floor and little else.  He glances back at the others uncertainly.

“Get some sleep,” Bleach tells him.  “We have a lot of work for you to do tomorrow.” Then he turns toward Josef.  “Does it meet Karpov’s expectations?”

Josef’s eyes narrow.  “What if he becomes unstable?”

“He won’t,” Bleach replied confidently and pulled the door shut, locking the Soldier inside.


	3. Monday is January, Friday is December

Natalia Romanova was six years old when it first occurred to her to question her future.  Her parents were dead, though the exact circumstances were something she hadn’t known at the time.  She had lived with Ivan Petrovitch for as long as she could remember.  When she turned six, he brought her to a beautiful building in the middle of nowhere.  There were other girls there, dancing in a pretty room full of mirrors.  A bored-looking instructor kept telling them to repeat what they were doing.

Natalia was worried about them because they seemed exhausted. A woman approached to reassure her while she waited for Ivan.  He was speaking at length to someone in an office.

“Aren’t they pretty?”

“Yes,” Natalia admitted.  “They seem sad.”

“That’s just the dance.  They are acting the part for the story.  It’s a very sad story,” the woman explained.

Natalia nodded and went back to watching them.  One girl fell, twisting her leg at an odd angle underneath her.  She did not make a sound, though anguish was evident on her face.  None of the others attempted to help her.  Slowly, the girl got to her feet again and continued the dance, wincing every time she used her right leg.  Natalia felt reassured that the girl could continue dancing and supposed the injury must not have been so bad as it looked.

“I hear you are a talented little girl,” the woman next to her said suddenly.

Turning away from the dancers, Natalia considered her.  “Ivan says so,” she admitted after a moment.

“He says you show an aptitude for physical activity as well as intelligence.  Do you think you could pick up this dance?” the woman suggested, gesturing toward the studio.

There was a hint of challenge in her tone and Natalia wanted to prove herself capable.  So she focused on the steps through which the girls were moving.  She had no words to name the moves, but they seemed doable.  When they repeated, she waited briefly to determine that no new steps appeared.

Feeling adequately prepared and maybe a little pride, Natalia proceeded to move through the unfamiliar steps as quickly as she could.  Some were a bit of a challenge, but she felt she did a passable job for a first attempt.  When she finished, she looked expectantly up at the woman, who smiled.

“That was quite impressive, Natalia.  None of our other girls have had your potential.  I hope we’ll see you again soon.”

With that, she turned away and went into the room where Ivan was.  Not sure what to make of the reaction, Natalia turned back to watching.  She slowly realized that something had changed.  Coming here wasn’t just an adventure for the day.  For one, it had taken a very long time to get here.  For another, she could hear the woman talking to Ivan and whomever else was in the office, and caught her name more than once.  What did that mean?  Why had Ivan brought her to such a place?  Was he tired of raising her on his own?  Was this an orphanage?  What was going to become of her?

 

The Red Room, a part of an unnamed department in the Soviet government, codename X, was not an orphanage.  Children who resided in their compound did not do so out of charity.  All of its agents were absolutely loyal to the Kremlin, and would sacrifice whatever was necessary in the name of Soviet superiority.  Protecting the way of life for honest citizens was paramount.

Women, it was said, were underestimated in the West.  Especially if they were pretty.  They could pass through areas and gather information that was otherwise guarded jealously by statesmen.  Even bodyguards tended to pay women little notice.  So, it was determined, the next generation of spies should be women.  Women trained with a very specific skillset.

Though the Red Room had other projects, the Black Widow program was by far the most influential.  And successful.  Madame B had started the program herself and interviewed all of its candidates before admitting them.  Ideally, the girls were under ten to allow for better acquisition of skills.  The youngest girl ever admitted was Natalia Romanova at six years old.  As far as the records Natasha Romanoff was able to discover could tell, decades later.

 

Ivan took her home that day, but she had known her simple life with him would not last much longer.  A week later, the woman from the Red Room arrived at their house.  She was not alone, having several bodyguards with her.  Ivan greeted her warmly and smiled at Natalia.

“You gave quite an impression, Solnyshko.  The madame is eager to have you join with the other ballerinas.  Would you like that?” Ivan asked, bending down to look her in the eye.

Natalia looked at the woman and back at the only parent she had ever known.  “Do you want me to?”

His eyebrows drew together for a moment.  “You could make a name for yourself.  Make quite an impression everywhere you go.  The girls the madame is training are going to have a significant influence on our great country.  And on how other countries see us,” he added darkly.

“What if I fail?” she asked.

“You never fail,” he replied confidently, patting her on the shoulder as he rose.

Bolstered, she nodded.  “I want to serve my country.”

“Wonderful,” the woman told her, smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes.  “We will be privileged to have someone of your talents join our group.”

After that, things moved very quickly.  Her meager possessions were packed, Ivan said goodbye, and she was put in a car, crowded on each side by the bodyguards who had traveled with the madame.  She turned around to watch her old house disappear and wondered if she would ever see Ivan again.

 

The years of training passed in a blur.  There were twenty-eight Black Widows of the Red Room, Natalia Romanova was the youngest of them.  Because of that, she had to work extra hard to catch up.  Her first day involved being thrown into the same training exercises as the others, despite her having no background in what they were doing.  The exhaustion from trying so hard to copy them that day only increased as the days turned into weeks.

Every day was the same.  The girls woke at dawn and ate a tasteless but protein-rich breakfast.  Then they studied.  Language acquisition, protocol, cryptography, as well as the usual three Rs that children learn (reading, writing, arithmetic).  These lessons lasted until one in the afternoon, at which point a light lunch was served.  The girls took shifts making and serving the food, though there was a kitchen staff that did the bulk of the work.  It was important that a Black Widow be comfortable in any situation, so they were often called upon without warning to serve in other capacities around the facility.  To see how quickly they could think on their feet.

After lunch, the physical training began.  This was not always the same.  The Widows learned various combat techniques and marksmanship as well as several forms of dancing.  The goal of the morning work was to allow the Black Widow to get herself into any situation required.  The goal of the afternoon trainings was to get her out of it.  Charm and intelligence could help her ingratiate herself with marks and targets, but she had to have a way to extricate herself in a hurry when she had completed her mission.

Objectively, Natalia had to admit that she enjoyed the training.  All of it.  She liked to learn and excelled at it, often beyond her peers.  There were a few girls who could usually keep up with her, and, at first, they formed a sort of friendship.  But the Red Room encouraged competition above all else, and this was not allowed to last long.  The twenty-eight of them were culled every year to prevent weakness or sentimentality.  Her upbringing with Ivan seemed like a distant fantasy as she was surrounded by enemies every day who were learning to be as duplicitous and cutthroat as a world-class spy needed to be.

Unpredictability was an essential part of the training program.  Though the Widows had schedules to which they knew to report, Madame B would often orchestrate obstacles to prevent their success.  In the beginning, these were as simple as changing the location of the lessons or having one of the textbooks removed to see how quickly the girls could overcome the challenge.  Later, these became as severe as leaving a group of them far out in the frozen wasteland that surrounded the compound with only enough supplies for one to make it back.

By the time Natalia was twenty, there were only a half dozen Widows left.  They were the hardiest girls and Natalia was considered the strongest of them.  The culling had ceased some years before as the Widows had proven themselves enough, perhaps, to complete the training.  That was when a new instructor was brought in from the cold to ensure they were ready to survive in the field.


	4. The calendar means nothing when you can't remember who you are

He wakes up abruptly when the door to his room opens.  After the men left him there, he tried to stay conscious for a while, but eventually gave in to the exhaustion that was ever present.  Now, he stands to survey the visitors.  Bleach and a woman in her early forties.  Both are smiling, though the expression lacks warmth.

“Soldier, please follow us,” the woman says.

They walk back through the facility to the nicer part of the building.  The layout appears to be relatively uniform in the newer section but the original mansion is much less straightforward.  Still, he is confident he could find the exit or return to his room on his own.  He is led to a large room that has been covered in mats.  Somewhere in his mind suggests that this used to be a ballroom before it was retrofitted to be a sort of gymnasium.  There remains some of the furniture that would make more sense in a ballroom, such as a piano and an ornate table pushed against the wall as well as a large fireplace.

“Do you know why you’re here?” the woman asks him when they stop.

He shakes his head, evaluating her.  While small, she carries herself in the confidence of someone trained to protect themselves.  The man projects a similar confidence.  If he is going to be attacked, victory will not be as assured as he would prefer, though still likely on his side.  The three men from earlier are nowhere to be found.  They were a much more effective group to keep him in line.  It’s best to follow orders, but he can and will escape if it turns out these people intend him harm.

“We have a training program for new agents.  We would like you to test them for field-readiness,” Bleach explains.

That is unlike anything his previous handlers had done with him.  He thinks.  Well, there isn’t much he remembers before the last mission, he realizes with a cold feeling.  Maybe he has trained others before.  He was certainly trained at some point – which he distressingly can’t recall happening – and can likely pass on his skills.

The woman pats his right shoulder.  “You’re one of the best ever trained by our department.  I’m sure you will be an invaluable teacher to our girls.”

Girls?

“They have been studying many kinds of combat techniques and are quite proficient.  What we need you to do is test their abilities to adapt.  Missions never turn out quite the same as planned,” Bleach drawled, “and we need them to be ready.”

He finds himself nodding, wondering how on earth he is supposed to do that.

The woman smiles at him in a practiced way.  “We have other training areas if you require them, but this one should fit your needs for now.  Shall I send them in?”

He nods again, not sure what use any extra time to prepare would be.

Bleach goes to the door and rings a bell, standing to the side and waiting as six young women enter the room.  They’re hardly girls, he thinks with relief.  Younger than the woman in charge but certainly adults.  Like their mistress, they move with the confidence of the well-trained.  Confidence has its place but can get a person into more trouble.  A realistic evaluation of the circumstances is more useful.

“This is codename: Winter Soldier,” the woman tells the trainees, sounding pleased with herself.  “He will be determining how ready you are for the field.  When you have met his expectations, you will graduate from our program and start the real work.”

The women peer at him with a hint of curiosity.  Have they heard of him?  He thinks the two on the right have – they reacted slightly at his title and are evaluating him in their regard.  One is blond while the other has red hair.

“State your name and your specialty,” Bleach orders.

The redhead steps forward first.  “Natalia, infiltration.”

Next, the blond.  “Yelena, combat.”

A tall brunette.  “Anna, cryptography.”

Another brunette.  “Elena, combat.”

One with black hair.  “Svetlana, technology.”

The last one, also brunette.  “Tanya, cryptography.”

He nods because it feels like an appropriate response, thinking that he isn’t aware of having a specialty.  Being able to grapple with any problem is essential during fieldwork.

Bleach and the woman settle into chairs against the wall, watching him expectantly.

“Attack me,” he orders.  The trainees hesitate only a half-second.  As expected, the blond and the redhead – Yelena and Natalia – lead the attack.  The six of them have clearly not worked together before as they keep getting in each other’s way.  Deflecting their blows is second-nature and far easier than it should be.  They are not ready.

“Enough.”  They step back obediently and he surveys them, evaluating.  “Have any of you fought someone besides each other?”

They glance at one another as though uncomfortable with the question.  “There were… other trainees, sir,” Natalia explains.

He shakes his head slightly.  “Others like you?”  They nod.  “You have to adjust your attack for someone larger than yourself.  And for someone who has had more training than you.”

“How can we hope to defeat someone who has more training than us?” Tanya asks.

Her tone is curious and maybe a little worried.  It makes Bleach frown at them, but he ignores their masters.  If he is going to teach them, encouraging questions is part of that.  “Everyone, no matter how well-trained, has weaknesses.  Identifying them is more important than any particular techniques you have mastered.”

“Is that what you do?” Natalia asks, assessing him again.

“Yes.”

“What are our weaknesses, sir?” Yelena wants to know, testing him.

He looks them over.  “Yelena, you favor your right side and I suspect have an injury there.  Broken ribs?”  She nods, subdued.  “Svetlana is not ambidextrous in her attacks, Elena has an old injury on her left knee, Anna is not used to attacking someone taller than herself, Tanya favors her hands too much, and Natalia.”  He paused, studying her.  “Natalia was too busy watching what the rest of you were doing.”

She smiles at him.  “It’s important to mind our surroundings.”

“Yes, it is, but not at the expense of committing to what we are doing.  You have to get used to multi-tasking.”

Her smile fades a little and she nods.

Glancing at the woman and Bleach, who appear quite comfortable waiting, he supposes that now is the time to start individual lessons.  “Yelena, you’re first.  The rest of you, get out of the way,” he orders.

 

Hours later, he is exhausted.  The trainees are leaning against the walls or resting against the piano or the table.  Natalia is standing before him, a glint of determination in her eye.  They have been sparring for some time and he has been identifying her mistakes and weaknesses, which she takes as a challenge.  She must be as exhausted as he is, but is set on beating him.

“Begin,” he says.

She lunges at him, feinting left, then right.  It takes all of his concentration to evade her blows and he wants to end this as quickly as possible.  When she jumps toward him again, he moves toward her instead of away, grabbing her about the waist and bringing her to the floor.  She struggles a moment before tapping his arm.

Standing, he tries to catch his breath.  “Better,” he tells her.

She still looks disappointed, but nods at the assessment.

“Good work today, ladies,” the woman interrupts them.  All of the trainees bring themselves to attention to face her.  “Go eat and rest.  I’m looking forward to seeing your progress tomorrow afternoon,” she adds in a slightly ominous voice.

The trainees nod and file out of the room, led by Bleach.  Natalia glances back at him once before joining her fellows.

“You did well today, Soldier,” the woman tells him when they’re alone.  “Return to your room and food will be brought to you.  You may rest until tomorrow afternoon, but please do not leave your quarters.”

He nods and complies.


	5. Who you are, losing hope, not sure what to believe

The Winter Soldier was a ghost story that the agents of Department X told each other.  Natalia had heard it before, even embellished a little on it when telling it.  It had never occurred to her that such a phantom could be real.  No one could have the ability to survive all the situations she had heard about, or to complete missions with such terrifying efficiency.  He was like the stories about wolves in the woods with sharp teeth, about to eat you up.

Meeting him the first time was a strange experience.  His eyes were cold and distant and he certainly seemed like the type to focus on an objective regardless of concern for personal safety.  She had little doubt that he would eliminate even their best agents if their masters chose to send him.  There were also his near-supernatural abilities.  He had a metal arm, but his flesh and blood seemed to be just as strong and fast.  The Red Room had employed trainers before but none like this.

It was not lost on Natalia that the goal of having him here was to prove their readiness to graduate from this place.  To finally be sent into the field and pay off all this training.  Though they had, of course, completed missions outside the compound from time to time for many years, but those were always heavily supervised.  She was impatient to prove herself and her place in the world.

The Winter Soldier trained them every afternoon.  The other Widows talked about him, some afraid of him and others disappointed after all the stories they’d heard.  Natalia thought he met her expectations exactly – intelligent, driven, some otherworldly abilities to add to his mystique.

After a few weeks, she came to an important realization – the stories about him were intentional.  They were as much part of his arsenal as his metal arm.  She didn’t believe that he spread the stories himself, or even knew of them, but they went a long way to increase his effectiveness.  If his target had heard of him, they would be terrified almost beyond reason.  If they hadn’t, well, his handlers were certainly aware of the stories and would treat him accordingly.

The Widows had been taught about how important projecting an image really was.  Natalia knew that her own image must be one of a pretty female not an unstoppable killing machine, but she could see the similarities between her own story and the Winter Soldier’s.  It made her wonder if he, too, was a real person underneath his persona.  Or if they really had made him into the perfect weapon.

 

Elena was the first one to effectively defend herself against the Winter Soldier in a training session.  She did not beat him, not really, but managed to pin him.  If she’d had a weapon, she could have killed him.  There were no weapons used in the assessment, though the Soldier trained them in the use of many kinds of weaponry at other times during the day.  Natalia didn’t think any of them would ever be able to beat him if he were armed, largely because that metal arm of his served as a shield and a weapon.  It was formidable enough in hand-to-hand fights without giving him more assets.

Madame B determined Elena ready to graduate, at any rate.  She was moved out of the girls’ dormitory and they did not see her again.  Well, they were not supposed to, anyway.

Natalia was training with the Soldier two days after Elena left.  An evasive maneuver proved to be ill-advised as she slipped on where the marble floor was revealed at the end of the matt, crashing into one of the windows.  Before she could panic, being several stories off the ground and all, the Soldier had grabbed her firmly and hoisted her back inside.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

It occurred to her that no one had asked her that, not since she was a child living with Ivan.  The way he was looking at her made her uncomfortable and embarrassed, uncertain if his estimation of her had just dropped significantly.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she forced out. 

He released her and evaluated her briefly.  “That’s going to bleed a lot,” he told her.

Injuries were not uncommon in these training sessions.  But a well-placed blow and cuts from glass were not the same thing.  She looked down at her elbow and watched the blood run down her arm for a moment, feeling distant and confused.

“You should go to the doctor,” he continued.

“I…”

“There are important tendons there.  You don’t want to risk permanently damaging it.  Could lose the use of your arm,” he told her firmly.

She nodded and grabbed a towel off the rack to press to the injury, glancing back once at the Soldier.  That was a bad idea, as he still looked concerned and she didn’t know what to do with that information.  So she gave him a small smile and got herself out of there.

The Red Room demanded agents go to check-ups quite regularly, so she knew where to find the Doctor.  Like Madame B and the Soldier, the Doctor had no given name.  Natalia wondered why the Widows were made to go by their Christian names and if they would be given titles or codenames when they graduated.  Other than the mantle of Black Widow, of course.

“Excuse me, Doctor,” she called as she knocked on the door, which was ajar.

“Come in,” came the response.

The infirmary, if one could call it that, was small, filled with various pieces of equipment with scarcely enough room for the two cots intended for patients’ use.  There wasn’t room for any more, or really much room to move around the cots.  But that wasn’t what caught Natalia’s attention.

“Elena!” she said in surprise, further surprised to find that she was glad to see her.  The feeling faded quickly as she took in how, well, ill her fellow trainee looked.

“Natalia,” Elena said groggily.

She was lying on the cot, an IV in one arm, pale as a ghost.  The Doctor was at her side, administering something with a syringe.

“Ah, Natalia, have a seat,” the Doctor told her distractedly as she finished whatever she was doing with Elena.

Natalia sat gingerly on the other cot, wondering what could possibly have happened.  There was no sign of physical injury, but something was clearly wrong with her.  After a few moments, the Doctor evaluated Natalia, then went to fetch some tweezers from her office to get out the glass shards.

“What happened to you?” Natalia hissed at Elena.

The other girl opened her eyes with some difficulty.  Then she sat up abruptly, looking afraid.  “Natalia, it’s the graduation ceremony,” she said urgently.  “It’s – they – they sterilized me,” she explained haltingly, tears springing into her eyes.

Natalia stared at her, feeling very cold.  “Why?”

“Madame B said it was necessary.  So I couldn’t become distracted,” the girl snarled, glaring toward the door as though their mistress could hear her.

“Did it hurt?”

Elena nodded, not looking at her.

The Doctor returned at that point and Elena settled back down, her eyes closing again.

“Is she alright?” Natalia whispered to the Doctor, hoping her horror was no longer showing on her face.

“Hmm?  Oh, yes, just had a bit of a negative reaction to the procedure.  I’m sure she’ll be ready to work in no time.”

“Procedure?” Natalia asked innocently.

The Doctor paused, seeming to remember herself.  “You’ll have to talk to Madame B about that.”

As soon as she was patched up, Natalia went immediately to do as the Doctor suggested.

“Ah, Natalia, I hear you’re progressing well,” Madame B greeted her with a smile.  She was in her office, looking over information that Natalia would not be allowed to see.

“Why did you sterilize Elena?” she demanded without preamble.

Madame B shook her head slightly.  “You need a little more finesse if you want to interrogate someone, Natalia.  Never go directly for what you want to know.  If you had gotten me talking about something along those same lines, it’s quite possible I would have let slip the information that you wanted.  Now I know what you want and you have no bargaining power to get me to give it to you,” Madame B admonished.

Natalia gritted her teeth.  “Tell me or I will leave this place for good.”

“You can’t leave,” came the self-assured reply.

Natalia stalked closer, glaring down at the older woman.  “I can leave, maybe not alive, but I can leave.  Tell me why you hurt her in the name of a graduation ceremony.”

Madame B sighed, leaning back and seeming unaffected by her pupil’s hostility.  “Some of your missions may require you to get… close to your targets.  It would be most unpleasant for everyone involved if a child resulted from such a thing.  In any case, you are agents of the Red Room, serving our glorious country.  Other women can only serve by bearing children, but you are special, chosen, and can do great things for the Motherland in your own way.”  She laid a gentle hand on Natalia’s arm.  “You will find that it is far more efficient, more useful, if you do not have to endure the sufferings of the rest of your sex.”

Natalia shuddered.  The thought of having a family had never occurred to her.  She was, of course, devoted to serving the Motherland in any way that she could.  But to have that choice made for her… After she had already given up so much of herself…  “What if I fail?” she murmured, considering if she had any future outside of the Red Room.

“You never fail,” Madame B reassured her.


	6. If you’re lost, how can you grow from where you’ve been

Life is more or less predictable.  He rises early to train on his own, then spends the afternoon and evening training the Widows.  Hand-to-hand combat is usually done with each of them individually.  Weapons training involves all six.  They are all improving, though at differing rates.  He is surprised when Elena is considered good enough to graduate – she was not the best performer, in his evaluation.  But he says nothing.  Perhaps she far excelled the others in different aspects of their training.

Now there are five Widows to train.  He wonders for the first time what will happen to him after they all graduate.  Will he be asked to train more people?  Or return to the kinds of missions he was doing before?  The thought concerns him in a way he can’t remember being concerned before.

After Elena graduates, he is training Natalia when she is injured.  He finds himself unexpectedly concerned about this, too.  Neither of these concerns are part of his mission right now, so why should he care?  He has handlers to figure out what to do with him and when.  And injuries are common in his line of work – why be so worried about Natalia?  He sends her to the infirmary instead of finishing their training session.  The woman in charge tells him later that this was unacceptable – the girls have to learn to work past the point of pain.

That makes sense.  He doesn’t argue, but he thinks about how permanent damage to Natalia’s arm might have negated all these years of training.  He should say that.  He doesn’t.  She dismisses him and he returns to his quarters.

The next weeks go much the same as previous ones, despite Elena’s absence.  Natalia seems more subdued in her sessions, perhaps due to pain in her arm.  He tries not to target it whenever possible.  If she notices, she doesn’t acknowledge it.

One day, Natalia nearly gets the upper hand on him.  She had been distant, almost going through the motions as they spar.  Perhaps his techniques have grown too familiar.  He decides to switch them up, which forces her to play defense.

“Come on, Natalia,” he urges as he manages to land a blow on her shoulder.

She hisses in pain, then lunges suddenly.  Her legs wrap around his shoulders and she throws her weight to one side, overbalancing him.  It was alarmingly effective.  He lands hard on his right side and she scrambles to escape.  Using his left arm, he grabs hold of her and drags her back down, moving to pin her with his weight.  He reaches for her throat and she taps his arm twice, looking disappointed.

He releases her and gets to his feet, offering a hand to help her up.  He wants to ask if she’s okay, but that’s not his job.  “That was good,” he says instead.

She smiles faintly, the expression not reaching her eyes.  It never does.

“You almost had him there, Natalia,” the woman in charge calls to them and he remembers that they are rarely left alone for long.  “I am very impressed.”

Natalia forces a broader smile.  “Thank you, Madame.”

“Tomorrow, we will have to bring Mr. Bleach to observe you.  I think you might just be ready to graduate, my dear,” the woman continues, sounding pleased.

Natalia flinches.  “Thank you,” she repeats very quietly.

The two of them leave and he waits patiently for his next trainee to enter.

 

There are several observers for Natalia’s session the next day.  He wonders if she is nervous.  More surprisingly, there are other men here who will be fighting her, too.  He thinks he has always worked alone, and this wasn’t what they did with Elena, but he doesn’t comment.  If that is how they want to test her, he will do his best to present a challenge.

He doesn’t need to do that.  Natalia goes through the others with efficiency, knocking one out against the piano, but leaves herself open to his attack.  He manages to put both arms around her shoulders before she can react, and she leans forward as if to throw him off.  That failing, she taps him to be released.  He does so and steps back, concerned when she does not immediately straighten.

“Sloppy,” the woman says in distaste.  “Pretending to fail.”  She pauses, expression softening.  “The ceremony is necessary.  For you to find your place in the world.”

Natalia is breathing hard, maybe from more than the effort of fighting.  “I have no place in the world,” she states and he thinks he can tell a hint of horror in her voice.

“Exactly,” the woman affirms, pleased.  “Again, please.  Show us what you can do, Natalia,” she orders, an edge to her voice.

Natalia glances at him and he sees fear in her eyes.  Then she attacks.  There is a desperation to her technique that hasn’t been there before.  It’s very effective against the others and she does better at avoiding him until there is no one else left.  Then she jumps at him, like she did the other day.  Maybe he is being sloppy, too, because he doesn’t stop himself from being brought down, and doesn’t reach for her fast enough as she jumps away.

“Excellent,” Bleach says, and those around him express their agreement.

The woman states she is ready to graduate, and they lead Natalia away.  She looks back toward him, possibly understanding that he let her be successful.  Her expression is unreadable and he watches her go.

 

Natalia doesn’t return for training the next day.  One by one, each Widow is removed from his sessions.  When the last girl, Svetlana, is led away, Bleach approaches him.  “You’ve done good work, Soldier.  We will make use of your talents again in the future.  For now, though, I think we have another use for you.”

He nods.  Bleach escorts him to a car.  It is not the same as the one that brought him here, but it seems to bring him back to his old life nonetheless.  There are three men, different but not in any substantial way from his previous handlers.  They do not speak to him, just start driving and shoot concerned glances his way whenever possible as the car winds down snowy country roads.

Hours pass.  He wonders if he’ll ever see any of the Widows again.  Or if the use his talents will take on in the future will be to train another set of people.  Did he like training others?  He thinks so.  He is disappointed to be leaving the facility.  He is disappointed to return to his life of silence and cold performance.  No one will talk to him about his technique and he cannot discuss all the things he has learned are necessary to be able to do on a mission.  He is again surrounded by people who may fear and respect his abilities, but do not treat him like a person.  He is a weapon, nothing more.

 

The days have lost their predictability and run into each other.  Sometimes he stays up for many hours in a row, staking out a location to wait for his target to return.  Sometimes there are no targets and he is left in a small room to sleep or whatever he wishes for long periods.  The only thing to mark the passage of time is that he must report on his missions when they are over and receive a new one.  For this, he is taken back to the facility in the middle of nowhere to speak to Bleach or the woman in charge of the Widows sometimes.

It is difficult not to look for the Widows when he comes back.  But he is never left unescorted, nor does he remain there for very long.  The people charged with driving him alternate and the next set are ready to go as soon as he has finished being debriefed.  So he goes back to work.

The exhaustion he felt before coming here had been alleviated by the regular schedule of eating and sleeping, but it does not take long before he can feel it permeating his bones.  Still, he is needed and has work to do.  He does it without complaining, though he has started to question his superiors during his debriefings.  Sometimes their suggested methods are inefficient or overly cruel.  He won’t kill children, or parents in front of their children.  Bleach takes these corrections in stride but the woman smiles at him in a way that is intended to remind him how easily she could make his life worse.

 

Snow drifts down gently and would be pretty if it didn’t mess with his eyeline.  He blinks away the flakes and stares intently into the adjoining building.  The target does not appear to be present, but he needs to be sure.  He glances down at the picture he was given of the man who, for whatever reason, has been deemed an enemy of the state.  Then he looks back into the apartment using the scope on his rifle, holding his breath to stay steady as he studies each person carefully.

There!  The man is coming in through the door.  He waits patiently until the other people are finished embracing the man in greeting, until he is somewhat apart again, then he fires.

A cursory glance shows his success, and he hastily packs up his rifle.  His handlers are several blocks away and he makes his way down to the ground via the fire escape, keeping an eye out for any witnesses.  Or approaching authorities.

He has made it two blocks before the sound of footsteps in the otherwise deserted alley brings him up short.  Staring into the darkness, he tries to determine the threat level.

“You could have given me a little more time.  I would have gotten some more information,” a familiar voice surprises him and he can just make her out in the shadows, wearing a black dress.

“Natalia?”


	7. It's getting old, loving everyone else more than you love yourself

Natalia Romanova was a Black Widow now.  The graduation ceremony, or procedure, really, had been a success.  She recovered after a week or so.  At the time, she hadn’t known exactly what they did to her, but she later found out.  In addition to sterilization, they had given her a cocktail of chemicals intended to improve her immune system, increase her strength and agility, and reduce the effects of aging.  Those were actually the intended effects of the procedure – being sterilized was just a convenient side effect from the Red Room’s perspective.  She didn’t know if that made it worse.

In any case, she was kept quarantined to convalesce afterward, no doubt to avoid spurring another Widow into having an angry conversation with Madame B.  What the others were doing, or even what Elena was doing, she had no idea.  She spent a lot of time laying in bed, thinking about how her life had gotten to this point.

When she was cleared by the Doctor, Madame B gave her a mission.  It was easy enough, merely infiltrating a lab to get a copy of their data.  She did it at night after charming one of the techs enough to obtain his key.  There was only one guard and he was easy to avoid.  Madame B heaped praise on her and she did her best to accept it graciously.

The next mission was only a little harder.  She had to get her mark to show her where his safe was.  There was far too much security for her to just search the place herself, at least according to Madame B.  This was also a success.  The man was susceptible to redheads and overly confident.  Convincing him to show off to her was not a challenge.  She took photographs of everything in his safe when he wasn’t looking, using a tiny camera hidden in her necklace.

Madame B was proud of her once again.  The terror that had affected her during the first few missions soon faded as she realized how willing people were to be manipulated.  They were almost glad to believe anything she said, to trust her, to show her their secrets.  It made her feel sorry for them.  She wondered if everyone in the world was like this or only the sort of people who became targets for her government.

On her sixth mission, she was supposed to get close to a particular businessman.  He had been conducting illegal trade deals with a country they considered an enemy.  She was supposed to find out how much information he had given away.

Things were going smoothly right up until an assassin shot him through the head.  She had screamed as much as the other women there, but was intrigued by the fact that it was an amazingly good shot.  Most snipers went for center of mass because it made for the largest target instead of going for the head.  Hastily, she excused herself and was able to see a figure disappearing down an alley nearby.  There was a glint of light that seemed familiar.  A metal arm, perhaps?

As she gave chase, she supposed that catching the assassin could be useful even if it wasn’t someone she already knew.  Her handlers would want to know why her mission had failed.

She pulled off her heels to run after him, coming to a halt when he paused, likely hearing her approach.  A shiver went through her as she was reminded of the stories of the Winter Soldier that she had known and she thought it would be a good idea to identify herself.  Before he reacted.

“You could have given me a little more time.  I would have gotten some more information,” she admonished him.

“Natalia?”

His voice sounded shocked and she walked slowly closer to get a better look at him.  He looked much the same as the last time she’d seen him, though that felt like a very long time ago.  She wondered if she looked any different.  Other than being dressed in a black evening gown and wrap instead of the usual training attire he’d seen her in before.

“Who sent you?” she asked when he continued to stare at her.  No longer with the blank look she remembered from when she’d first seen him, but now with emotion flickering over his expression.

“Bleach,” he replied.

“Hmm.  Did he think I wasn’t getting the job done fast enough?” she wanted to know, her professional pride pricked by the suggestion that she couldn’t complete the mission.

“I don’t know.”  He shifted his weight, glancing toward the street.  There were sirens approaching.

She followed his gaze then looked back at him.  A sudden longing came over her to talk to him, to be able to speak without lying, to have someone who actually knew her to listen to what she had to say.  To ask him how he dealt with the loneliness that this line of work almost encouraged.

“We’d better lay low until this blows over.  Come with me,” she asked, surprised by the roughness in her voice at the request.

He nodded and she led him back to where she was staying, only a block away.  They quickly climbed the stairs to her room and she bolted the door once they were inside.

“I don’t think they’ll be searching rooms,” she began as she turned back to him.  He was looking around the room with a strange expression.  “What is it?”

“You… live here?” he asked slowly.

“For a few weeks, while I’ve been getting closer to the man you just killed,” she explained, unsure of the reason for his question.

He nodded and then met her gaze.  “I didn’t intend to mess up what you were doing,” he told her firmly.

A smile tugged at her lips.  It might even have been a real one.  “Maybe we can go back together and give them a lecture about how to properly use their agents,” she offered, teasing.

His returning smile was definitely real and she was absolutely certain that she had never seen him smile.  Though she had assessed his threat level before, she thought she might never have really looked at him.  His long hair and stubble obscured his face and had kept her from noticing how classically handsome he was.  If she were to make an objective observation, his build and height were nothing to sneeze at, either.

“Are you alright, Natalia?” he asked, leaning nearer to where she was clearly just staring at him like an idiot.  The expression of concern on his face made her chest hurt.

“What’s your name?” she needed to know.

He stepped back, startled.  His brow furrowed as he considered her question.  “I don’t know,” he finally admitted, looking a little lost.

“They took that from you?” she murmured.  He nodded.  “What else have they taken?”  She moved closer, so he could hear her soft question and so he didn’t need to answer too loudly.  And so she could touch his cheek hesitantly, waiting to see if he would back away.  Instead, he leaned into it, closing his eyes.

“Everything,” he admitted at last.  “My name, my memories, my life.  I… I got some of it back, training you.  But it’s gone again.  I am just their tool.”

He opened his eyes to look at her again and she could see what it took to admit these things.  Things that maybe he had not ever admitted to himself.  “What will you do?”

A hopeless expression and a shrug were the only responses he could give.

“I devoted my life to the Red Room.  I gave up my childhood and my youth to train with them.  When I… When I became an adult, they took the chance of ever having any kind of normal future away from me.”  Having children wasn’t a prerequisite of normal life, of course.  But they had chemically changed her into their agent.  They had taken all she had given and still wanted more, until they’d forced her to change in ways that could never be undone.  Until she was just one of their tools.  Like the Winter Soldier.

“Natalia,” he whispered, slowly wrapping her in his arms, giving her time to resist if she wished.  When was the last time she had felt any affection from someone?  Or for someone?  She nestled against him and had to fight back tears when he stroked her hair.  “If I could save you from all this, I would,” he told her.

“I would, too,” she responded.  They could never really escape the Red Room.  They could not escape what they were meant to do, their purpose in life, the place in the world that they had been created to occupy.  But, maybe, for tonight at least, they could make a few of their own decisions.


	8. But if you never break, you'll never know

The whole thing is entirely unexpected.  He did not think he would see Natalia again, and certainly not be sent after the same target to whom she had already been assigned.  She is different now, enough that he can tell, but not so much that he knows why.  Is being in the field really so terrible?

He likes being in the field.  He is successful and efficient.  Sometimes he is exhausted or gets injured, but, overall, it is preferable to remaining on a base.  To what they do to him when he isn’t sent anywhere.  He doesn’t tell her that.

Seeing where she lives has an effect on him that he does not immediately identify.  He’s seen the houses of targets, though rarely up close.  Everywhere he’s been is stark and utilitarian.  Natalia surprises him by making her home, temporary though it must be, actually seem like someone lives there.  Of course, no pictures decorate the walls, but there are far more objects that could not be even tangentially related to her mission here.  Things are messy, not put away, there are dishes in the sink, flour on the counter and on the dog-eared pages of a cookbook.  She actually lives here, in a way he can’t remember living anywhere.

When she talks about how she has given up everything to be who she is now, he understands.  He can’t remember anything from before he woke up to be sent on a mission right before training the Widows.  There is nothing, just a few jumbled images and sensations, a mess of emotions that he cannot understand without any context.  So he is well aware of what it means to be an agent of one’s country.

 She kisses him.  It is abrupt and startling and he resists reacting immediately because he is afraid of what his instincts would have him do when his personal space is suddenly invaded.  It’s a desperate kiss and he returns it after a split-second of realizing what she’s doing.  No one has shown him anything like affection before.  He doesn’t know why she’s doing this, what about him could possibly have inspired tender feelings in her, but he has them for her and will accept them.  Because it’s clear she needs it, too.  There has certainly been a dearth of affection in her life as much as in his.

“Natalia,” he whispers when she moves away slightly, looking up at him intently.  Assessing his reaction.  He presses a kiss to her forehead experimentally, arms tightening around her.  She seems so small like this.  “We shouldn’t…  Our superiors will not react well,” he forces himself to say.

She frowns.  “What do you want, Soldier?” she asks insistently.  “I don’t care what our superiors want for us.  Not if it means we are not allowed to want anything for ourselves,” she adds when he says nothing.

He can’t remember ever wanting anything for himself.  Sometimes he is hungry, but they put food in front of him frequently.  Not food he necessarily recognizes or wants, though.  When he is tired, he is eventually allowed to sleep.  He wants to survive missions, and he has managed to do so.  But he’s never wanted anything outside of what he was told.

Now, though…  He looks down at her, at her pretty face.  Bright eyes, soft lips, lovely hair…  He’s not unaware of her physical attractiveness.  All of the Widows were knock-outs.  They had to be, after all.  But none of the others ever looked at him like this, or really like anything other than a test they had to pass.  Not Natalia.  Even the first time he saw her, curiously appraising him, there was something else.

He won’t just be a tool, to her.  He won’t be evaluated for his uses and nothing else.  And neither will she.  Her abilities are impressive, certainly.  He hadn’t even recognized her when he had surveyed his target this evening.  And he is well aware of her hand-to-hand capabilities.  She excels at everything she does, and he has no reason to doubt that she would not make an excellent partner for him.  Could he ever live up to her expectations, though?  Unlikely.

“I’m too far gone,” he tells her.  Her frown deepens and he sighs.  “I don’t remember anything before the mission that brought me to you.”

“Nothing?” she asks, skeptical.  He nods.  Her expression softens.  “I was brought to the Red Room by a man called Ivan.  He took me in as a child after my parents died in a fire.  When I was six, he had me audition for Madame B.  I’ve been in the Red Room ever since.  Even though I’ve graduated, I still have to return for orders.”

Her tone darkens for the last sentence and he frowns at her.  “Do you?” he questions.

She smirks.  “I have nowhere else to go, and very specific skills that I doubt will transfer to much else.”

He nods.  “I think I’ve tried to escape before,” he admits.  She looks intrigued.  “I always have three guards with me on missions.  They usually stay with the car, but they are not there clean up if I make a mistake,” he explains.

Her fingers gently run along his cheek and he leans into the touch.  “I suppose I should consider myself lucky, then.  I only have to check in with my superiors every few days.  No one is watching me.”

It is clear that she’s sure that no one has been surveilling her.  Given how much training she must have received to do the surveilling herself, he does not doubt that she’s right.  He looks around her home, surprised that it makes his heart ache to see how she has been living here on her own.  Away from the influence of the Red Room.  What will it do to her to return?

“How many missions have you been on?” he asks.

“A few; none as long as this one, though.  They’ve been getting progressively more difficult.  I think Madame B is still testing me out.”  Her brow furrowed.  “I hope this failure doesn’t give me too much of a setback.”

“I’m sure we can explain it to her.”

She smiles up at him, and he thinks he has never seen anything so lovely.  “I’m sure we can.  Hopefully we don’t have to give her all of the details, though,” she adds coyly.

He kisses her again and she quickly responds.  When they break away, both of them are breathing hard.  He pulls her closer and makes his way down her neck, pressing kisses as he goes.  She gasps and arches and he appreciates the low-cut nature of her gown.

“Madame B is always thinking big-picture; I’m sure she won’t care about a few little details,” he teases as he glances up at her.

Her laughter makes him grin, then wonder when the last time she laughed was.  A real laugh; she likely does so as her cover fairly regularly.  The sight of her, slightly disheveled, laughing and smiling at him makes his heart clench.  This will end badly.  He knows it for certain, and she does as well.  But maybe it will be worth it.

He draws back slightly, releasing her.  She looks perplexed and maybe disappointed.  “I’d like to take you to bed, Natalia.  If you’re willing,” he tells her gravely.

She quirks a smile.  “I thought I was sending some strong signals, but I appreciate the constructive feedback.  I’m willing.”

He halts her when she reaches for him again.  “Natalia…  You know they’ll send us to Siberia or worse for this,” he warns.

Her expression becomes one of resolve.  “I know.  I think it will be worth it.  To have something that is what I’m choosing, not what’s chosen for me.  Don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he says sincerely.  Then he lifts her up and carries her to her bedroom.  She giggles and looks up at him so adoringly that he is sure any torture that he might have in store as a result of this indiscretion will be worth it.  So worth it.

 

They return to the Red Room the next day.  Madame B is not pleased, but Natalia knows how to talk her way out of anything.  She explains the circumstances and strongly implies that being sent on missions with him would be better than sending them separately.  There is no evidence in what he can see, as he sits stoically beside her, of any personal feelings on the matter.  Only a desire for efficiency.  And maybe a little ambition, to be sent out with the Winter Soldier on his missions.

He goes back to his quarters after the briefing and waits.  It would be too dangerous for her to visit here, he has warned her.  That doesn’t keep him from hoping to see her before his next mission.  No such luck; after twenty hours, Bleach comes to fetch him and sends him out.  A simple assassination and he is back in a couple days.  He thinks of Natalia constantly, but focuses well enough on his mission to keep from attracting attention.

Finally, Natalia must have been very convincing indeed, because she is sent on a mission with him.  Working with her is like doing a dance to which only they know the steps.  It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and not just because of how they occupy their time in the safe house.


	9. It's all you need to fight a blow

“Perhaps you should not have sent a second agent if you wanted me to be successful,” Natalia pointed out to Madame B.  The Soldier was sitting silently beside her, as expressionless as the first day she saw him.  It wouldn’t be helpful to think about how expressive he can be.

“I did not send him,” the older woman growled, glancing toward the door, as if the actual culprit could hear her annoyance.

Natalia sat back, folding her arms over her chest.  “Well, I don’t know what you expected us to do.  My cover might have been blown and, after he finished his mission, it wasn’t safe to be out on the street.  We waited until the coast was clear before we left and came back here.”

Madame B turned her attention back to her pupil and sighed.  “I’m sorry, dear, that this little mix-up made things difficult for you.  We will have to work on our communication better in the future.”

They were dismissed soon after and Natalia returned to her quarters.  She did not turn to look back at the Soldier when they parted ways, or even walk with him during the short distance they covered in the same direction.  Pleasantries were never something she’d done with the other Widows, so she certainly wasn’t going to start with him.  Once she was back in her drab cell, she wished she could see him again.  It would at least lessen the pain of leaving her comfortable little apartment and the pleasant life of her cover.

Pushing the thoughts aside, she got some rest and then did a bit of training.  Days in the Red Room were different now than they had been for most of her life.  They were no longer rigidly scheduled, for one thing.  For another, her only assigned training tended to relate to specific covers and be the study of a single afternoon.  She filled her time with working out and practicing her abilities in the make-shift gymnasium or reading up on topics that hadn’t made it into her education.  Well, the topics that were still deemed appropriate enough to have available in the facility.

It was difficult to focus the first day after she returned from the mission that the Soldier had interrupted.  Her mind kept conjuring all sorts of scenarios where they would see each other again.  And, more than that, where maybe they could share an apartment like the one she’d created for her cover, but not to have to leave it.  For it to really be a home to them.

The idea was irrational, not to mention dangerous.  If the Red Room discovered what they’d done, they wouldn’t just be fired to go retire somewhere.  People did not retire from Department X.  Natalia didn’t know exactly what happened to them, but she could come up with all kinds of situations that Madame B could create that would be extremely unpleasant.

No, she would just have to hold onto the evening they spent together as a bright spot of companionship in her otherwise isolated life.  No one to talk to who understood; anytime she did speak to someone was either lying to complete a mission or debriefing to Madame B.  Even though her relationship with the other Widows had been highly competitive, she did miss them.  At least she’d spent her childhood and adolescence surrounded by people who, if not trustworthy, were going through the same things.

Madame B sent her on a few short missions, as if testing her out again.  They required little infiltration and she completed each one after only a day or so.  She did them efficiently but without the same finesse she’d had before.  Maybe her heart just wasn’t in it.  Madame B had nothing to complain about, and Natalia waited patiently to be trusted with something more substantial.

Finally, her wishes came true when she was called in for a briefing and found the Soldier already there and standing stiffly before Madame B’s desk.  Bleach was behind her, leaning against the wall, keeping an eye on the Soldier.

“Natalia, come in,” Madame B said, waving her to the chair where she always sat.

The Soldier remained standing, perhaps because no one had told him to do otherwise.  He made no indication that her presence had any effect on him and she endeavored to do the same.

“We have an assignment for you,” Bleach said, clearly dubious about the whole thing.  “If you think you can work together.”

Natalia looked at the Soldier briefly and saw no indication that he was going to reply to the statement.  The silence of their superiors made the expectation of a reply obvious and she looked back toward them when she spoke.  “I believe we have sufficient training in common to be an effective team,” she answered emotionlessly.

“Excellent,” Madame B said, though neither she nor Bleach looked very happy with the situation.  “The target is a high-level businessman.  He is a paranoid agoraphobe and the house was modified to have advanced security, so the usual methods will not apply.  However, he has a number of staff who have free access to the majority of his home.  You, Natalia, will infiltrate his people as a new technician, Nadia Rush.”

She handed over identification and Natalia took it, briefly glancing over the cover story.

“You’ve worked for many such people before and will be assisting in the set-up of cameras all over his property.  That should enable you to move freely,” Madame B continued.

“And to erase the evidence when we’re done,” Bleach cut in sharply.

Madame B gave him an annoyed glance.  “Yes, that too.  You will smuggle in the Soldier when your target has minimal security on his person and assist him as needed to eliminate the target and disappear.”

“Make it look messy,” Bleach cut in again.  “We’re sending a message here.”

Natalia nodded, apprehensive about doing something new.  Not that she doubted her own or her new partner’s abilities, but there were a lot more variables than usual.  And she wasn’t sure how she felt about sending such a message – people like her tended to be called in for precision, not shock and horror.

Whatever her misgivings, she accepted the mission and all the information they could give her.  Still the Soldier had not looked at her or acknowledged her presence.  Or anyone’s, really.  He answered direct questions but otherwise just listened.  When they were finished, she was transported alone to the target’s home and was told the Soldier would be brought in when she reported it time for him to be on hand.

It took her a week.  She was allowed inside easily enough but did not see the owner of the house right away.  Even if she was granted quite a bit of access as a result of her cover’s job.  She did not press her luck by trying to go into places that Nadia was not allowed.  There was too much at stake to risk failing at such an early stage.

After seven depressing days, she finally met the target.  It was only natural that she be as charming as possible, and he seemed quite taken with her.  That was a relief – at last something was going well.  The target kept a fairly regular schedule and she took careful notes on it before telling her superiors that it was time to send the Soldier to her.

Seeing him again was an unexpected shock.  They met in the apartment where she had been staying near their target’s home.  It was not a particularly warm space, since she did not need to occupy it for long.  But he still looked around curiously when he arrived and she felt oddly self-conscious about how he felt about it.

“Natalia,” he said, then, and kissed her.  She sank happily against him and tried to remember why falling into bed with him right now was not the best idea.  They were alone, but his handlers would not have gone far.

“We have to get to work,” she told him insistently, though she didn’t move.  A laugh rumbled through his chest against her cheek and she let out a sigh.

“Do we?  You don’t seem ready,” he teased.

No one else teased her – not the real her, anyway.  Plenty of people teased her covers.  “I’m not,” she admitted.  “But we must.”  She didn’t need to explain why.  She did explain their target’s schedule and movements, as well as all exits and entrances to the house.  He listened thoughtfully and suggested a mode of attack that she had not considered.  It was enjoyable to actually be working on something with him.  He knew what he was doing and had valuable insight into the situation.  She hoped they would do well enough to get to do this again.

It was early in the evening when they approached the house, him dressed as a civilian and with a cover as a tech repair person.  Earlier, she had breached the security on the house from the apartment, and came claiming that he was here to fix the problem.  Not that technology was exactly his forte, so that was a potential weak point in their plan.  Fortunately, no one pressed either of them and they were able to move unhindered through the building.

Their target was most paranoid after dark – hardly surprising, considering what he had done to accumulate so much wealth – so they would have to attack before then.  They stumbled across him when he was at dinner, something he preferred to do alone while his guards waited outside.

“What are you doing in here?” he snapped, reaching for the alarm.

“So sorry,” she purred.  “There’s been a breach and we are here to fix it,” she explained, motioning toward the camera she had installed in that room.  It was blinking, faulty, as intended.

“Fine,” he hissed and returned to his meal, no longer charmed by her, apparently.  Still, that didn’t much matter.

She glanced at the Soldier, who nodded.  Then she climbed on a chair to deal with the camera while he completed the mission.  She tried not to listen, but the door was soon kicked down by their target’s guards.  They were too late, of course, to do anything, so it was unclear why they bothered to attack anyway.  Loyalty, maybe.

The chair she’d been using made a great initial weapon.  They had not been able to bring anything resembling a weapon inside, except for the Soldier’s left arm, of course.  He made good use of it while she used what he’d trained her to do in taking down her fair share of guards.  He hardly seemed out of breath when they were finished and he smiled at her before they hurried out of the room.  There were more guards on the way, but they successfully escaped the building with minimal harm to their persons.  The trip back to her apartment was significantly more stressful than when they had done this after her botched mission, but no less enjoyable.

As soon as she locked the door behind them, she flung herself at him and they enjoyed their success.


	10. Now put yourself back together again

They must have made a mistake.  He wasn’t sure how or when, or if it was just the same mistake, over and over, that was bound to be noticed eventually.  After the first mission on which he and Natalia were sent together, their superiors were pleased with the results.  They were efficient and left no trace – Natalia made sure of that.  It was impressive, they were told, and he tried not to smile at the assessment.  Because it was true but they had no idea why it was so impressive.

The department did not allow for its people to develop attachments.  It was in the business of creating perfect weapons and did not care for the human element inherent in their agents.  He had seen some of how the Widows had it trained out of them, keeping only enough to help them blend in with civilians.  Since he rarely needed to blend in with other people, he had even less humanity.  But Natalia touched some part of what was left and it changed everything.

He followed his orders, whether Natalia was part of them or not, but he began to consider for the first time how he came to be here.  Who he might have been before.  Why he was chosen.  Obviously, he must have had some demonstrable skills before they took him and broke him of anything that wouldn’t directly serve their purposes.  He ate because he was told, not because he was hungry or enjoyed what they fed him.  He slept when allowed, regardless of his level of exhaustion.  He killed because they told him it was the right thing to do to protect their country.  He trusted their judgement implicitly.  Until Natalia reminded him that maybe he didn’t have to, that maybe he had a choice.

Not much of one, of course.  He was acutely aware of what their masters would do with a broken weapon.  They’d be sent to Siberia or worse if anyone ever found out about their affair.  But even that threat was worth it, to feel like a person every once in a while.  To talk to Natalia about what living a normal life had been like before she came here, about what it was like to be deep enough undercover that she pretended to have a normal life again.

They talked about what it was like to be nothing but a tool.  They talked about daring to hope for something else in the future.  Though both were devoted to their cause, perhaps someday they could retire together and keep a little house in the suburbs.  It was a strange dream, one that didn’t feel like it could possibly ever happen.  But they were both very good at pretending.

It wasn’t sloppiness that got them caught.  They never saw each other when they were in the compound, except for briefings.  During these, they were politely distant – maybe too distant, maybe they overplayed their hand.  But he didn’t think so.  They acted like colleagues who had a level of trust in the other, nothing more.  Nothing less.

When they were on a mission, Natalia continued to be sent first to infiltrate the situation.  She would send for him when she had sufficient information to include him in the operation.  It was much easier for her to get them somewhere than for him to do it himself.  Far too many years had passed since he had been in polite society, if ever, for him to pass as a normal person again.  She slipped into any role as easily as changing clothes.

They were not sloppy on missions, either.  If there were handlers or other ways of communicating with their superiors, they would remain discreet.  Limited speaking, keeping out of each other’s personal space, complete focus on the job.  Only when they were sure that they would not be seen did they do what they really wanted to do.

He couldn’t remember anyone being nice to him, or even treating him like a person.  It did something to him, to his programming, and he began to get more confused.  He would forget where he was, what he was doing, whom he was with, after falling deeply into some other scenario in his head.  He never knew if these were real.  Maybe it was his past life, coming back to him.  Maybe it was just noise after what they did to him.  It was even possible that they were memories fed to him by his masters for some reason.

The people in the facility were not his masters, not really.  He had never seen them before coming here to train the Widows.  But he was beginning to remember other masters, other people who told him what to do and hurt him if he didn’t comply.  They were distorted and the memories bled together, however hard he tried to focus on them.  Would he see them again?  Or was this going to be his assignment forever?

He could hope that it would be, but knew it was unlikely.  Natalia was becoming more and more skilled as they went along; soon, she might surpass him in all but direct attacks.  And he had an unfair advantage there.  What would happen when he was no longer needed?

Frequently, he woke up screaming.  When Natalia was there, she did her best to comfort him.  He hated when he was alone.  The nightmares were too real for him to be sure that they were over if he awakened in his cell or in some strange safehouse or another.  So many of his fractured memories seemed to be of the same situations and he would get confused about what was happening now and what was just in his head.

Natalia had nightmares, too.  She would not wake up screaming, but would thrash around.  He would wake her gently and sometimes she would attack him reflexively.  Then he would have to pin her until she calmed down enough to recognize him and apologize prettily.  He would smile and hold her until she slept again, wishing she would talk about what hurt her like she always encouraged him to do.

Maybe that was a problem.  He was becoming a regular person again, with his own ideas about what to do and how to do it, though he tried to keep this to himself when talking to his masters.  But perhaps they noticed him acting differently on missions, or how he had started questioning mission parameters.  Whatever it was, they made a mistake.  And that was unacceptable.

 

They were returning from a mission, he’d given her one last kiss before they were picked up, and now both were emotionless and silent on the ride back to the facility.  The people driving were the same who had dropped them off for another successful mission, so there was no cause for concern from that quarter.

When they arrived, though, there was a man standing outside.  Natalia looked at him curiously, but he recognized him instantly.  He didn’t know his name or anything about him, only that he had definitely seen him before and not in exactly in pleasant circumstances.  He must have tensed because Natalia glanced over at him briefly before exiting the vehicle.  The man did not address her and she went inside.

“Soldat,” the man said calmly and he came to a stop in front of him.  “Have you been representing me poorly?” he asked.

“No, sir,” was the obvious answer.

The man gave a slight smile and led the way into the building.  He followed, fighting the nausea rising in his throat as his stomach twisted.  They went to the same briefing room as always, where Natalia was already waiting.  The woman in charge entered, her expression stern.

“What is the nature of your relationship?” she asked.

Natalia’s eyebrows rose but she did not react otherwise.  He kept his face expressionless, afraid what any sign of hearing the question might indicate.  “I don’t understand, Madame B.  You have sent me on missions with him and we tend to get along well in the field.”

The woman snorted.  “Yes, quite well, I hear.”

He stared intently straight ahead and wished this moment would end instead of stretching on forever like it felt like it was doing.

“Madame?” Natalia asked, sounding convincingly confused.

“You are a disgrace to this program and to your country.  You have used sensitive operations as an excuse to engage in… fornication,” the woman snapped.

The game was up.  He let himself look at Natalia to see how she was taking this.  They had both known it could end this way, but had never talked about what to do when it did.  She was so pretty, even as afraid as she looked now.  He was glad to have gotten to know her, no matter what happened next.

“That’s…  That’s not true,” Natalia denied, wavering.

The woman smiled grimly.  “What?  Are you going to say you were in love?  Love is for children, Natalia.”  Her tone was as gentle an admonishment as if Natalia had merely made a mistake in the classroom.  “It seems you’re correct about him becoming unstable, Karpov.  You can take him back; he has outstayed his welcome here.”

Karpov was a vaguely familiar name and he looked up at the man, then back at Natalia.  Escape was impossible, but that didn’t stop him from trying to get to her.  More men came out of nowhere and brought him down with difficulty.  Natalia was crying and he wished she wasn’t, or that he could get close enough to wipe her tears away.  Instead, he was dragged away and he watched her as long as he could.  She ran along after them, no one apparently interested in stopping her, and could do nothing but watch as he was placed on a chair he remembered far too well.  Then he remembered nothing.


	11. Burning bridges from the inside out

She had no warning that it would end the way it did.  She hadn’t known, at the time, all the ways Karpov had used to make the Winter Soldier completely obedient.  She hadn’t had any idea that their relationship had been noticed by anyone.  They had been so very careful.  But when an officer she hadn’t recognized was there waiting for them to return after a mission, she knew something was wrong.  Especially when the Soldier tensed up beside her.

There had been nothing for her to do except go to the briefing room like she always did.  Nothing to do but wait until the officer, the Soldier, and Madame B arrived.  The latter got right to the point and Natalia was too shocked to be able to deflect her claims sufficiently.  Men had arrived and dragged the Soldier away when he tried to put up a fight.  No one stopped her from following, though she wished they had.

He was taken to a chair of some kind, one with restraints.  She had been planning on how to remove the restraints when it was clear that their purpose was not to keep him from running.  It was to keep him in the chair as some sort of device lowered on his face and he began screaming.  His hands clutched at the arms of the chair and his body was as taut as a string.  Tears flowed down her cheeks and she could do nothing.

Karpov, as Madame B had called him – he had no other identification – told her something about leaving the care of his soldiers to him.  It was snide and she barely listened, transfixed by the sight of the Soldier in pain.  Was this his punishment, then?  Was she next?  That would explain why they hadn’t stopped her.

But, no, it was far worse than that.  When it finally stopped, when his screams finally ceased reverberating through the cement corridors, they let him out of his restraints.  Something like hope bloomed in her chest as he sat up and looked around.  Until he looked at her.  There was no sign of recognition on his face.  He was staring blankly like he had when he’d first come here, as though nothing in sight mattered to him at all.

“Soldat.  Do you know her?” Karpov asked, twisting the knife.

The Soldier met her gaze and he stared for a long moment while she held her breath.  Then he shook his head.  Keeping on her feet instead of sinking to her knees in despair took all of her faculties, and the next thing she knew, Madame B was at her side, guiding her away.

“As I said, Natalia, love is for children.  You are not a child.  It will only hurt you now.”

 

Maybe she would have defected eventually anyway.  Maybe the world was changing enough that she saw no purpose in her role.  Or maybe she just no longer cared much for her country after what she learned they had done to the Soldier.  And to the other Widows.  And to herself.  Surely they would have been effective enough agents if they’d been allowed to lead their lives outside of missions.  Surely they didn’t deserve to be broken down into nothing so that there could be no question of their loyalty.

After the Soldier was taken from her, she continued to work for the Red Room.  She did exactly what they asked of her and they had no reason to suspect she would leave until she actually did.  It was difficult to escape them, and a part of her sort of wished the Winter Soldier would be sent after her.  That would be a poetic end, wouldn’t it?  Or dramatic irony, anyway.

She wasn’t on her own long before Clint Barton was sent to kill her and decided to make her an offer instead.  She had been waiting to die, but he suggested an opportunity where she could not only live but make up for her crimes?  That gave her something to live for again and she accepted it with great relief.

SHIELD was nothing like the Red Room.  She was allowed to have a home away from their facilities, allowed to have time off.  It was a culture shock, to say the least.  Clint helped her and she eventually let go of all the values the Red Room had instilled in her.  Saving people could be done without killing others; she didn’t need to mislead everyone all of the time.  Sometimes you could trust people to do the right thing.

It was a few years before she was on a job and her tires got shot out next to a cliff.  She managed to get herself and the engineer she’d been escorting out of the vehicle, searching frantically for the sniper and trying to cover her man.  But it hadn’t mattered.  A shot rang out, going through her to kill the engineer.  Clutching her wound, she watched as a familiar form packed up his rifle and disappeared, metal arm glinting as he moved.

After that, she didn’t sleep well for a while.

She had worked for SHIELD long enough to be trusted, long enough that bringing up the Soviet Boogeyman wasn’t completely ignored.  Maybe they preferred not to put him as the reason her mission failed in the report, but there were sympathetic looks when she described what happened.

It took a few weeks to recuperate from the bullet wound, which left an ugly scar, before she could do much of anything.  And, even then, Coulson and Clint insisted that she take a break for a while.  Perhaps they were afraid of the effect her first unsuccessful mission would have on her, or maybe they could see how important this was to her.

In any case, she didn’t argue.  But as soon as she was able, she went to look for him.  Not officially, of course – SHIELD thought she was on sick leave.  She flew back to Russia and went to the Red Room first.  It was gone, the facility burned down and enough snow in the rubble to indicate it had been gone for some time.  She didn’t know how to feel about that.  So she focused on how it made her search that much more difficult.

Clint brought her in two months later, and then she was forced to have a real vacation to recover.  What she’d found, she never told anyone.  But she had found him – in Siberia.  There was a base, hidden in the icy wasteland.  Getting there was difficult.  She’d had to wait, very patiently, before she was able to infiltrate the place.  There were not many workers of whom she could just become another one, so she eventually had to sneak in and try not to get caught.

It was night when she got in and found the room where the chair like the one used on him before was a part of the floor.  There were computers and tech all around, but she couldn’t immediately understand its purpose.  And she wasn’t looking for that sort of thing.  There were yellow tubes around the edges of the room and she initially ignored these in her search.  Then she looked in the center one.

The Winter Soldier.  He was frozen.  A slight frown on his face made it seem like his rest was not a peaceful one.  She recoiled at the sight, fighting down the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.  Then, slowly, she approached and pressed a hand to the glass.  What had they done to him?

Approaching footsteps kept her from searching more closely and she had found it necessary to escape.  It took even more time to be able to return, having to again wait for the opportunity to break in and hope no one would notice.  No one did, but that was because it was empty.  The Soldier was gone.

 

She did not see him again until five years later, when he had clearly been sent to go after Steve Rogers.  She did not know, then, who he really was.  She did not know who had control of him.  She did not know why they would target Captain America.  But she did know what he would do, at least enough to evade his attacks.

As soon as she recognized him on their roof, she had jumped forward to keep the three of them from getting shot.  Sam’s quick thinking got him off of their vehicle, but then he just waited to get back on board.  She should have shot him.  She’d had to feel around for her gun, but, when she found it, maybe some part of her didn’t want to shoot him.  That was a mistake.  He was relentless and efficient and she was terrified to see him on a mission from the other side.

Still, she kept her head.  Steve was clearly his target and she managed to distract him long enough for Steve to get back in the game.  Not that it didn’t cost her – she was shot again and terrified, aching for him to recognize her when Steve came up and saved her.  And then he recognized his friend and was compromised.  She managed to fire a round from his own weapon to drive him off.

Steve had talked about his conviction that it was his friend from before the war, before he’d gone in the ice.  Sam was skeptical but she thought of that tube she’d seen him in and wondered if it was actually possible.  She did know for certain that she couldn’t tell Steve now.  She’d been thinking about it, telling him about the Soldier and waiting to see if he would ask how she knew these things so well.  But now…  Now it was complicated.

Which was why she didn’t mind that her part of the mission did not involve seeing him again, that he disappeared after saving Steve and she thought that no one would find him again.  That was probably what he deserved, to be left alone.  To be able to live like a real person without anyone bringing him in.  For justice, for revenge.

Bucky Barnes was taken as a prisoner of war in the nineteen-forties.  And he’d never really escaped.  Now that he was free, she had no intention of doing anything to jeopardize that.


	12. One day I'll be stronger than my own doubt

He didn’t remember all of them.  Not when he made that claim to young Stark, anyway.  The memories that had returned were spotty and confusing.  He remembered best the things from the war and before it, though not in a coherent way.  The things after the war…  Well, maybe he didn’t really want to remember those anyway.  Terror for his own safety that he’d never allowed himself to feel in the situation itself was impossible to ignore when he remembered what he’d done.  Especially since so many memories returned as dreams.  They were all the same, all death and pain and blood.  Until, one day, they weren’t.

When he had been living on his own in Romania for a while, he had sorted out many of his memories.  He’d kept a journal.  That was when he remembered things about his real life – his family, Steve – in an increasingly coherent fashion.  Memories came suddenly, usually as a result of some domestic task he was doing reminding him of similar circumstances in his youth.  Occasionally his missions as the Soldier came back this way as well, but fortunately not often when he was in public.

It was when he was in Wakanda that an unexpected kind of recollection came to him.  At first, he wasn’t sure if it was just a dream.  Shuri had woken him up, told him they thought his programming was removed, or at least made dormant.  Given him a place to stay, to work, to occupy his time.  So he had thought that maybe the current kindnesses were playing on his mind and his dreams were just a longing for some sort of kindness to have been in his past as well.

As time went on, though, as the dreams became more vivid…  He began to suspect that they were not dreams at all.  He didn’t tell anyone about them.  What would they even say?

There were children who watched him, who were intrigued by him.  He didn’t like to think about the children he may have seen in the last seventy years, though he was pretty sure he hadn’t killed any.  His presence still could not have been very pleasant for them.  These kids, though, they were funny.  They’d never seen anyone like him before.  And he’d never seen anyone like them.

Wakanda was an amazing place.  It had all the technological advancements his 1940s-self had hoped to see in the future.  He knew that these did not exist outside of their hidden country, at least not to the same extent he’d hoped for when he was younger.  He hadn’t known a society like this, not in any of the places he’d visited over the years.  He loved it here, not least because he was allowed to rest.

Living in Romania couldn’t be considered resting and, before that, he’d been put to sleep any time he wasn’t needed for a mission.  The war hadn’t exactly been restful, either.  So it gave him time to process all the things that had happened to him, for better or worse.  The nightmares began to decrease and his dreams were more pleasant, when he had them.  Even if he couldn’t explain them.

Shuri talked to him about his treatment, but also about mundane things.  It made him feel like a person and not a burden.  Or some kind of puzzle for her to figure out.

“Do you think they implanted anything?” he asked one day, his dreams having become solid enough that he had to ask.  Had to know if they could possibly be true.

She looked thoughtful, considering.  “No,” she said finally.  “I think they only suppressed your memories.  Cut off access to them.  Why?”

It was possible that he flushed at the question.  He didn’t look at her to see if she noticed anything amiss.  “There’s something… different.  I can’t explain it.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The question was gentle – he could always say no.  He’d said no many times before.  But this was different.  He usually refused to talk about things because that would make them real, make them inescapable.  But maybe he wouldn’t mind this being that way.

“There are… girls.  Young women, maybe a little older than you.  I was training them,” he explains slowly.

“Training them?” she prompted.

“Yeah.  To be like me.  Hand-to-hand combat, mostly.”

She smiled.  “Are you a good teacher, Sergeant Barnes?  Should we recruit you to train our people?”

He smiled weakly in return.  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly, looking away.

“There is more?” she guessed, sounding a little apprehensive now.

Nodding, he shifted his weight.  The lack of his metal arm still felt a little off-balance most of the time.  He was glad to be rid of it, of anything that made him feel more like a weapon than a man, and he still had his right hand. 

He cleared his throat to focus on Shuri and what he was telling her.  “After I trained them, they were sent out on missions.  Then, so was I.  There was one who I… ran into on several occasions.  We… we were involved,” he explained slowly.

Her eyebrows rose and she looked amused.  “Are you telling me that you just remembered having a girlfriend, Bucky?”

If he wasn’t flushing before, he certainly was now.  “It wasn’t that simple,” he defended himself.

“No?”

“We weren’t allowed to do that.  They punished us both for it, in different ways.”

The amusement on her face faded into concern.  “How?”

Again, the question was gentle and he could refuse to answer if he wanted to.  “They made me forget her.  I think…  I think that was when they started to erase everything more frequently.  At the beginning and end of missions, sometimes during.”

She nodded.  They had talked about that aspect of his previous life before, back when she needed to know everything he could tell her about what had been done to him.  “And her?”

His hand clenched reflexively and he shrugged painfully.  “I’m not sure.  I think… I think they made her watch what they did to me.  I don’t know what happened after.”  She nodded again, waiting patiently to see if he will continue.  “I do know that she must have left the organization not long after,” he added, hesitant to put his theory into words but wanting to try.

“You do?”

“Yes.  She defected and became an agent of SHIELD.”

“Bucky…”

If Shuri could guess whom he meant, he didn’t give her time to find out.  “I was training the Black Widows.”

“And you think Romanoff is the woman you knew?”

He nodded, relieved not to have to say it himself.

When he dared to look at her, Shuri’s expression was thoughtful.  “It is possible that you are projecting your memories onto something – someone – who is a part of your current life.  Since she saved you from my brother and you don’t know why,” she explained.  They had talked about that before, too.

“Do you think that’s it?”  A mixture of relief and sadness went through him at the thought.  Relief that maybe this wasn’t an uncomfortable conversation he might be having with one of Steve’s closest friends some time in the future.  Sadness, irrational, at the idea of having this taken from him.

Maybe he should have had this conversation before, since he’d foolish enough to hope.  If his dreams were true, then maybe, just maybe, there was a future for him in which he wasn’t always going to be alone.  Who else could really understand what he had gone through except for her?

“I do not know, Bucky.  Maybe you should talk to her.  See if it feels familiar.  Get her to talk about her past and see if it could line up with what you’re remembering.”

He nodded.  She always had such good advice.  Later, when Steve and his team came to Wakanda because it is the end of the world, he considered taking it.  There were much bigger things at stake, though, so even when he was standing right next to her, when there was an opportunity, he decided not to say anything.  Maybe after the battle, when they were safe, maybe then he would talk to Natasha Romanoff and find out if she remembered him the way he remembered her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That brings us up to the end of Infinity War, in case that wasn't clear from the above paragraph. Next chapter is an epilogue set in the same future time period as the prologue


	13. What did you think would happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time jump to match the prologue. Thank you for reading!

The kitchen felt small, cramped.  She was standing by the stove, waiting for her tea to cool.  He was standing in the living room, though actually only about a meter away.  His expression was earnest, open, fully aware of what she had asked of him.  Her hands were cold and she couldn’t seem to move, hadn’t been able to since he’d told Sharon the name of the man from the fight.

“I remember everything, Natalia.  And you were the one good thing in all of it,” he added sincerely.

Her heart was pounding, surely loud enough that he could hear it.  Loud enough that the neighbors probably heard it.  Stay calm, stay calm, she ordered herself ineffectually.  The one good thing?  The one good thing!  What did that mean?  Was that still how he thought of her?  Did she think of him the same way?  It had been a long time since she’d let herself want something.  It tended not to go well.

He hadn’t moved, was still standing there, watching her.  Waiting for however she might react to his pronouncement.  As if there weren’t a hundred more important things for them to be doing right now.  As if they weren’t on a mission with people who would be counting on them.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself then walked over to him.  Gently but not hesitantly, she stood on her toes to press a kiss to his lips briefly.  “I haven’t forgotten, either,” she told him.

She did not miss the grin that crossed his face at the gesture and had a hard time keeping her own expression relatively neutral.  Heading back to the kitchen, she poured them both some tea with trembling fingers.  “Sugar?”

He held her gaze and nodded in a much too serious manner to be a response to her question. 

“Do you… not want any tea?” she asked innocently.

His eyes flickered toward the tea then back to her face.  “Natalia…  I meant to tell you.  When we were in Wakanda, at… at the end.  I remembered then.  I wanted so badly to tell you, to find out how you felt, but I didn’t think it was, you know, the best time.”

She focused on breathing slowly.  “That was probably a good call.  It was hard enough, watching you… watching you go without something like that on my mind.”

The thought clearly hadn’t occurred to him and he looked stricken.  “Natalia,” he murmured, seeming at a loss.

Leaving the teacups where they were, she walked over to him.  “It’s alright, don’t worry.  All of that is in the past.”

Very slowly, he reached up to touch her face.  “I missed you, Natalia.”

“I missed you, too.”  It was a relief to finally admit it, and more so to admit it to him.  She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes.  “You made me realize that I could leave.  That there could be more to my life than working.  I’m sorry I couldn’t take you with me.”

“Me too,” he murmured, leaning forward to brush his lips against her forehead.  “You… you can take me with you now,” he offered.

She grinned.  “Oh, can I?”

“If you still want to.”

There was something there, a vulnerability she wasn’t used to seeing.  She reached up to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, thinking of how long it was getting.  This might be a mistake.  They were teammates.  Things had ended badly for her the last time she became involved with a teammate.  And the last time she’d been involved with him, though that had really been outside of their control.  Now could be different.  They wouldn’t need to hide, to sneak in rare moments of connection, of feeling human.  They could be… well, normal wasn’t exactly right, but close.

“I do.  Still want to,” she clarified.

She didn’t know, later, which of them moved first, but then his lips were pressed against hers and she wrapped her arms around his neck to bring him closer.  It was familiar and safe and new and exciting all at the same time.

Later, she didn’t know how far they might have gone, either.  But then their comms buzzed to life, thoroughly interrupted them and causing both to draw back abruptly.  Because being caught was still a frightening concept.

“Hey, we tracked down Bleach to a warehouse and he looks like he’ll be on the move again soon.  You should hurry.  I’m sending you the address,” Sharon explained.

“Be right there,” Natasha replied, then paused to touch his face again.  “Rain check?”

“Yeah,” he answered, turning his head to press a kiss to her palm.

It took only a few moments to be on the road, heading after Bleach.  The man hadn’t really been a personal enemy of hers, but it was going to change a part of her to see him captured.  She didn’t know what effect it might have on James.  Something to think about on the way.  Sharon’s intel informed them that Bleach was holed up in an abandoned warehouse, and, if the heat signatures were any indication, he was not alone.  And that something rather suspicious was with him as well – likely a bomb.  The plan was for them to sneak in and take care of the bomb while Sharon and Sam did their best to lure people outside.

As they drove, Natasha pulled off her coat and affixed her Stingers and other weapons where they belonged on her suit, feeling better to have them.  Her adrenaline was up and she was excited to get started.  James seemed to be feeling the same way.  They left the car a few blocks away and went the remaining distance on foot, sticking to the shadows in the lingering darkness before dawn.

“First one to be spotted buys dinner,” she suggested, grinning at him.

He grinned back.  “You’re on.”

It was easy to stay unseen; there was no way he would win.  They moved swiftly and silently down the empty streets until they reached the warehouse.  No obvious security measures were in place and she wondered if Bleach had intended to come here or if it had been a decision of convenience, not strategy.  If so, he was getting sloppy.

There were sentries, of course, but only a couple of them.  She and James watched their movements patiently until a pattern emerged.  Then, with a grin, she took the first opportunity, running past the closest sentry in the brief moment he was facing the wrong way.  Without waiting to see if James would join her, she made her way toward where she knew the bomb would be, keeping an eye out for more mercenaries.

She had just rounded the corner, taking in the sight of Bleach, a huge wooden crate, and five guards, when there were shouts behind her.  Well, this would make it more interesting.  Pulling out her batons, she gave up on subterfuge and ran out into the open space of the warehouse.  The guards attacked, naturally, but she kept her attention on Bleach.  He did not look happy to see her, swearing and then rushing over to the crate.  That was bad news.

Her Stingers took down a couple of the men, she used her garrote on another, and managed to get to Bleach before he could do anything stupid.  She grabbed him and pinned him against the wall, slightly surprised that such an intimidating figure from her early life could be so easily dispatched now.

“Did you start it?” she demanded, glancing back but unsure if the blinking numbers on the display meant anything.

“I’m not going to talk, girl,” he growled.

She pushed him harder against the wall.  “No?  Are we all about to die, Bleach?”

He didn’t answer and she was relieved to see that James had arrived.  He took out the remaining guards with his usual efficiency, then walking over to the crate.  After a brief consideration of the workings he could see, he gave her a nod.

“You’re a little late to the party,” she teased him.

“I like to make an entrance,” he replied, coming over to take Bleach off her hands.  She went to verify that the bomb was, indeed, not armed, then gave a slight sight of relief.

“Sharon, Sam?  We got it.  Threat neutralized,” she reported in.

“Fine,” Sharon responded, sounding out of breath.  “We’ve got it covered out here.  Heading in.”

“So, where are you taking me for dinner?” she teased James, grinning at him.

Bleach swore harshly, and they both looked at him in surprise.

“You traitors are the reason I’ve lost everything!  Lost my position in HYDRA because I couldn’t keep control of their precious asset, lost HYDRA, now I’m reduced to being some garden-variety terrorist.  Do you have any idea who I used to be?” he demanded.

“Yeah, we do,” James replied coldly.  “You used to be a mean little man who was so inept he sent two assets on the same mission without realizing it.”

Bleach blinked at him for just a moment, then lunged forward.  James managed to restrain him before he could do anything, but Natasha stepped back reflexively.

“You… That was when it started, wasn’t it?  When we lost control of you.  How pathetic you are, that it would take such a little push to break both of you,” he snarled, struggling violently against his bonds.

Natasha wasn’t much interested in whatever else he had to say, so she used one of her Stingers to knock him out.  Then she looked up at James, whose expression was concerned.  About her, she realized.  “We’re not broken,” he told her softly.

She nodded slowly.

“What was all that about?” Sam asked, he and Sharon apparently having entered the warehouse while they were distracted.  Sharon was still clearing the floor, but Sam was heading toward them.  “You knew this guy?”

“Yeah,” they both said at the same time unintentionally, then glanced at each other sharply.

Sam folded his arms over his chest.  “What are you not telling me?”

Natasha gave him a bright smile, patting his shoulder.  “That we have absolute faith in your ability to hold down the fort with Sharon until her agents get here to wrap this up.”

“What?  Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“James owes me dinner,” she answered simply, offering him her hand.  He glanced at it before taking it, eyes tracking up her in a way that made her flush.

“Seems more like breakfast,” Sam called after them as they headed for the exit.

“Oh, I forgot.  No pancake houses,” she told James.

“I’ll see what I can do, Natalia,” he responded, pulling her closer.  She smiled.


End file.
